Forgive me Father
by thatlittleweirdone
Summary: [JohnLock Wing!Lock Au] Sherlock is an angel fallen from his Father's graces, John finds him at the mercy of a church that seeks to use him as a sign of their faith. After saving the fallen angel the human finds himself in for one hell of a journey. [All comments and criticism are welcomed, thank you!]
1. The saving grace

Sherlock had forgotten how long he'd been there, his wings well tended to by the priests and pastors, as if it would forgive their sins. Monsters, all of them. An angel had no place in being bound by humans, no place in being a symbol of their faith, not like this. He refused to stay here, even if it had been condoned by the father himself. 'What you hold to on earth, I shall hold to in heaven'. He questioned his father's intelligence for giving these beasts free reign with such a rule, allowing atrocities to be committed in his name. Lifting his head as the priest unbound his wings, right on schedule, he let out a small chuckle. "Forgive me, Father, for I am tempted to sin." he breathed, earning a raised brow and confused expression from the priest.

"And what tempts you, a servant of the lord?" The priest murmured, running a damp cloth down the sleek black feathers, bringing the angel to shudder to his touch. Sherlock gritted his teeth, bowing his head once again. "Freedom tempts me, Father, loss of these binds. Allowance to walk free, my body aches for it, my mind aches for it." he breathed, hoping he would not have to resort to violence, that he would not have to break the rules of his father just to escape. Never would he be accepted back to grace if he harmed a human, his fathers favored creation, favored over even the ones who so loyally served him. "The world is not for you, one so pure will be tainted mere moments after stepping out of these doors, you will be taken by those who wish to pull you apart. We are protecting you, dear one, you were sent to us for a reason and when the time is right, you shall be shown to the world." The priest breathed softly, running the cloth down Sherlock's straining back muscles, bringing him to pull against the chains, receiving no give and leaving him only squirming desperately. "Blessed one, be still, I shall not hurt you." His voice was soft, as if talking to a simple child, Sherlock couldn't stand it.

"So you shall not let me go?" Sherlock questioned, earning a soft laugh, almost mocking. "No, we shall continue to protect you until we are given sign that something else is intended, however long you must be here." The priest stated softly, smiling as he moved to Sherlock's front, the cloth being rubbed gently down his bare chest and over the muscles of his shoulders that were pulled so taught by the chains, straining under the skin. "Father, plea-.." "We have spoken enough of it, Sherlock, enough." The priest stated firmly, moving back behind Sherlock to lightly tend to his feathers again, ensuring they were well cared for.

Letting out a sigh, Sherlock shook his head. "Forgive me.. father, for I shall sin." The priest looked up just in time to see the large black wing smash into the side of his head, his powerful muscles knocking him across the room, sending the small pot of water intended to clean him spilled across the floor with a clatter. Laughing to himself, almost maniacally, he still hung helpless and struggling, wings flapping behind him. He hadn't thought this through, clearly, left like a helpless worm on a hook.

"_Hello_?" Sherlock's head shot up as he heard the voice, albeit distant, there was someone in the church. "_Hello Father_?" English, rough voice, most likely been crying before coming here. Perhaps this was a gift, father had forgiven him and he would be granted freedom. "Help! Please!" Sherlock called, hoping his voice would carry through the thick oak doors, he had stopped shouting for help long ago but if there was ever a time to resume, it was now. The footsteps halted at the sound of his voice, clearly trying to figure out what to do. "In here! Please, please help me!" Sherlock continued, voice strained. The footsteps hurried, doors pushing open with a small groaned noise. Then a gasp followed.

"Jesus Christ!" The man uttered, earning a chuckle from the bound angel, shaking his head. "Not quite.." Sherlock murmured, looking up at him. ".. Just an angel kept hostage by those who pretend to serve God's will, now if you would, get me down." One of wings pointed to the unconscious priest on the floor and he raised a brow, looking into the man's eyes. "He has the keys, let me loose.." The man licked his lips, shifting from one foot to the other, clearly unsure. "And how do I know you're not some demon, meant to be here?" he finally questioned, voice wavering. "Black wings, not how I'd imagine an angel.."

"Please.. They have kept me here for so long.." Sherlock begged the man, looking pleadingly into his eyes, only to be met with a stern gaze. "Not a chance, mate, not until I know the whole story here." The man shook his head, kneeling and tending to the priest, the angel gritted his teeth in frustration. Damn these humans.

Hanging in silence, Sherlock waited until the priest finally stirred, waking with a sharp breath and gaze directing up to him immediately. Keeping his gaze at the floor, he disregarded the look of disappointment on the priests face and the sigh that left his lips. "I thought we had passed this, Sherlock, our blessed gift.. The father sent you to us for a reason, be still and accept of it." His voice only incited more anger, more frustration, though the man spoke before he could voice it. "So he really is an angel..?" he questioned incredulously, looking the priest in the eyes. "Yes, my child, he is a blessed servant of our lord.."

"Then why are you keeping him bound?" Sherlock looked up as the man asked that question, eyes flitting between them, reveling in the look of outrage on the blonde man's face. "He.. He is innocent, he cannot be tainted by the world, we have to keep him pure." The priest protested, shaking his head. "No. No, that's wrong. Have you looked at him? Not only is he going to suffer severe dystrophy.. he's literally begging to be freed? What the _hell_ is wrong with you?" The man shouted at the cowering priest, hands gripped at his sides. "You know what that is?! That's torture. You tortured this creature! Does that prove your faith?! Do you think your God would approve of that?!... Give me the damned key right now." he snarled, the shaking priest handing him the key with mumbling protest, only getting a glare in return. "Get out.."

Those words were obeyed, disappearing into the back rooms as the man smiled weakly at Sherlock. "My name's John, John Watson.. I'm going to get you down from there, okay?" he murmured softly, wrapping an arm around Sherlock as he unlocked the cuffs above his head, supporting him in his grasp. Sherlock, however proud he usually was, wrapped his arms around the man and held onto him tightly. "Thank you, John." he breathed softly, closing his eyes as he was held so carefully. "I'll look after you, at least until you can get home, don't you worry about that." John assured with a soft smile, scooping the wavering angel into his arms, careful of the large black wings.

"You can stay with me.."


	2. Mother hen

Just as anyone would think, it wasn't an easy task for John to get the angel back to his home, especially considering he was clad in little more than a sheet. However, with a little patience and careful adjustment, he gently folded the wings to the man's back and used his jacket to cover over him. Sherlock fell asleep in the cab and the ex army doctor couldn't help but smile to himself, however odd it was, this creature was now his responsibility It would be so easy to hand him over to.. well, whoever would take him but the thoughts of what had already been done to him made his stomach twist, he couldn't allow for Sherlock to be hurt any longer, not after seeing the pleading and weak expression as he had hung so helplessly from the ceiling. Never again, he told himself, this creature deserved a good and happy life as anyone else did.

Carrying him into 221b, he laid the sleeping mass of cloth and feathers down upon the sofa, grabbing a more adequate quilt to keep him warm. "I have no idea what I'm going to do with you.." he sighed, double checking that his wings weren't bent awkwardly before padding into the kitchen and making tea for them both. A small whimpered noise left the huddled form just as John was pouring out the water for their drinks, almost sending it spilling over the counter tops, he would have to get used to sharing his living space with another person rather quickly. Peering into the living room, he watched as the angel squirmed slightly, his wings ruffling audibly under the sheets and small noises leaving his lips, only just coherent. "No.. Please, p-please don't, father.. Let me f-free.. Please.. " he murmured again and again, fingers gripped so tightly into the sheets that his knuckles blanched white. Unable to take the sight or pleaded words any longer, John moved forward and hoped he could soothe the unsettled man, kneeling beside the sofa with his fingers running through the thick curls atop his head and soft words murmured in his ear. "You're safe now, Sherlock, It's okay, I've got you.. You're free."

Eyelids fluttering open, Sherlock almost flinched as he felt the unexpected breath against his ear, eyes widened in surprise. "John?" he questioned, tilting his head slightly, swallowing down a thick gulp, the panic that had risen in his chest dissipating to just simple confusion. Pulling away and sitting back on his heels, John gave a fond smile, trying to reassure him. "You were having a bad dream, I just wanted to make sure you were okay, sorry if I made you uncomfortable." he murmured, the angel quickly shook his head in response. "No, no, it helped. I appreciate it." Sherlock smiled back, slowly sitting up and letting out a groan as he stretched, his whole body held a dull ache from being bound for so long, which only got worse as he attempted to move.

"Ah, what do you think you're doing?" John questioned, pressing a hand to Sherlock's chest to halt the attempted movement, the brunette sat himself back down on the sofa with a frown. "I was.. I was just going to walk about. I need to move, If I co-" "You need to bloody rest." The army doctor cut in, shaking his head. "I know it must have been frustrating, well, that's a massive understatement but still, you really do need to rest before you even think of moving around, your body needs time to get energy back, just give it a day or two, yeah?" Slumping unhappily into his seat, reclining once more, Sherlock frowned and accepted that perhaps this time it was the best idea, even if he despised it. "Fine but only because I have to, not because you told me to." he muttered. "Of course not." John nodded quickly in response, a small smirk playing on his features at how truly childish the creature was. "Have you tried tea yet?"

Within seconds, John had their two teas, a wide smile across his face. "If there's one thing that's certain to make you feel better, it's a nice cup of tea." Placing it down on the table and turning to sit, he was just about to warn the angel of how hot it was when he was startled by a yelp and the smash of a cup against the wall, tea splashing everywhere. A small sigh erupted from the army doctor, running a hand over his face before turning to regard Sherlock, the angel looking at him red-faced with both hands covering over his mouth. "You didn't give me a chance to warn you that it was hot." he couldn't even attempt to stifle his chuckle as the curly haired brunette looked so indignant, as if it had been an intentional personal attack, his eyebrows furrowed. "Here, have mine, I'll go make another and remember to blow on it this time." John smiled, bending down and picking up the largest of the broken shards.

Tentatively, Sherlock blew over the top of the cup, going to bring it to his lips before hesitating and blowing on it a few more times. "It'll get cold if you keep doing that." John commented, watching him from the doorway with and expectant and amused smile. Sherlock rolled his eyes and finally took a slow sip, ensuring he fully tasted it, a content breath exhaled after he swallowed it down. "You're right, it's quite good when it's not scalding your face.."

John snorted, walking over and seating himself with a new tea in hand. "Ever watched telly?" he wondered just how oblivious the angel was, did he even know what 'telly' was? "Television?.. No, they said it would taint me, that I would become subject to their influences as I am, in their words, 'naive to the world'." Sherlock shrugged, occasionally taking idle sips from his cup. "Do you want to watch some?.. And don't think this is me 'tempting' you or something, it's up to you." That brought the angel to chuckle, a true and honest expression of amusement on his face, John's brow raised in questioning. "Ah, apologies for laughing, it's just amusing.. Ironic, I should say." Sherlock chuckled again, shaking his head, it was certainly an endearing sight. "What is?" John was certain he'd missed the joke. "The priest was acting as the sinner and the sinner acting as a priest, he told me humans were harsh and unforgiving, yet he was the one to cause me pain when you have been nothing but gentle and nurturing. It's just amusing to me." he explained, covering his lingering smile with his cup, pressing it to his pursed lips. John smiled widely, not at all offended by the face that Sherlock had implied he was a sinner, the angel's smile was certainly worth any insult. "You should smile more, you know, looks good on you." he stated, holding the remote up and shaking it as a silent question, only flicking the television on once Sherlock gave a small nod of approval.

Flicking through the channels, something seemed odd, things out of place in the what was being shown on the screen. John turned to Sherlock with a look of utter confusion as the anchorwoman's face had changed, something inhuman stood in her place, in her _clothes. _"S-Sherlock.." he began, silenced quickly by Sherlock's raised hand, his eyes trained on the screen and jaw gritted. "I am not the only creature of myth that exists, John, you have been around me for long enough for your brain to see through 'glamours' the thin veil of disguise that we take.." Sherlock explained, though his tone was firmer, his eyes not once leaving the creature on the screen. "Though, I had not expected them, they are demons and I have a duty to stop them.." Watching as Sherlock tried to get to his feet, John quickly was standing over him again, forcing him to sit. "You are in no shape to be fighting anything, a pixie could probably kick your arse right now." John muttered, shaking his head as Sherlock informed him that, "Pixies are peaceful, there is no logical reason I would fight one." and settled back into the sofa with a huff. "You know what I mean, Sherlock, you're to stay home until I say you're well enough. Doctors orders."


	3. Clipped wings?

It was two days before John finally gave in and allowed Sherlock to move about the flat, honestly he couldn't have made the angel wait any longer if he'd tried his utmost, he was becoming increasingly stubborn as time drew along. Still, John kept a careful eye on him, not wanting him to suddenly keel over or cause more damage to his strained body. "I am capable of moving about; I don't need you coddling me like a child, John." The angel muttered sharply, glancing over to John with a frown, pacing up and down the living room as if making up for lost time and lost movement. Thankfully Sherlock had started to accept that clothes were somewhat necessary, he'd previously been wandering around in only his sheet and John practically had to dress him with force.

"I know you're capable on your own in this flat, Sherlock but the outside just isn't safe for you, not without supervision." A glare turned his way, pale eyes narrowing and wings ruffling in annoyance.

"So you'll just keep me here?" Sherlock practically growled, rightfully defensive about such matters.

John simply shook his head and went to retrieve another cup of tea, he found he needed a lot to keep him going with this angel around. "I asked you a question John!" Following after him, Sherlock stood in the kitchen doorway, his wings spread to give himself more height and stance, not that he needed it in regards to the short army doctor but John wouldn't comment on it.

"Sherlock, of course I'm not going to keep you here against your will, I just want to keep you safe and I know you're a reckless sod." His tone was exasperated, enough so that Sherlock's wings lowered, no longer feeling threatened or trapped. "I just want what's best for you, okay? And right now, chasing demons certainly isn't that."

"Eliminating demons comes in part with my existence, John." Sherlock tried to explain, running a stressed hand through his hair. "I-"

"And protecting people comes in part with mine." The blonde interrupted, fixing Sherlock with a firm gaze, crossing his arms over his chest. "And what were you going to do about your wings?" At that, Sherlock looked defeated, he knew this was a losing argument and simply turned away, curling up on the sofa with his wings wrapped around himself like some kind of petulant child. "You can't just walk around London with your wings on show, you'll be in a cage within an hour with people wanting to run tests, prodding and poking at you." Still the angel stayed quiet and John knew how frustrating it must be for him, stuck somewhere he didn't want to be, most likely with someone he didn't even wish to be around. The angel probably hated him.

...

When John awoke the next morning, he was shocked to find the angel looming over him, an almost manic grin on his face that certainly gave John a shock. "What the hell are you doing?!" He exclaimed, shuffling backward as his heart thumped loudly in his chest, Sherlock seemed confused by the reaction.  
"I've solved it." Was all the angel said before he disappeared out of the room, leaving one very confused John Watson in his wake.

Giving himself five minutes to catch his breath and, most importantly, ensure he wasn't going to have a heart attack thanks to his crazed winged flatmate, he padded to the living room with a frown. "What was all of that about, Sherlock? You almost killed me! And what is it you've solved?" he asked, a yawn slipping into his words and obscuring them slightly, though Sherlock didn't even seem to notice or didn't care, both seemed likely.

"I've solved it." A smirk spread across his face as he repeated the words and John realized this was intended to be some guessing game, for him to figure out what the angel could have possibly solved.

"How to use the kettle finally?" Sherlock shook his head.

"Um.. the necessity of clothing?" Another shake of his head, though he seemed no more inclined to give a clue to the oblivious doctor. Then it hit him all at once, noting the wings missing from the angels back and nausea washed over him like a tidal wave. Sherlock continued to simply grin. "Y-You.. Oh god, please tell me you didn't.." Swallowing thickly, he walked forward, fearing the worst.

"Oh but I did, now I can go outside." Sherlock was baffled to John's reaction, surely he would be happy, now they could travel together and John wouldn't be stuck in a flat with him.

"W-What.. what did you do with them?" His voice was uneven, he could feel the bile rising in his throat, it was his fault the angel did this to himself.

"What did I do with what?" Now Sherlock was truly confused, brows furrowing, looking the blonde over.

"Your wings, Sherlock.. Where did you get rid of them to? They're not just sitting in the bin, are they?"

The angels face pulled into one of disbelief and disgust, nose wrinkled up. "I didn't get rid of them, they're still there, John. I would never just cut off my wings, that's.." He trailed off, simply shaking his head, looking at the blonde as if he'd insulted him. Though John didn't notice, he was too busy catching his breath, completely relieved. He'd never be able to forgive himself if he'd been the reason for Sherlock's self-mutilation, it would forever haunt him that such glorious wings were cut off and it was his fault. Still, he didn't need to worry about that now, turning his gaze up to the angel.

"A brace, I developed a brace out of the leather straps you had in one of the drawers, I would never cut my wings off..." Sherlock frowned and shook his head, the faint rustle of his wings under the brace indicating his annoyance.

"You caught me off guard, Sherlock, Christ..." He breathed, running his fingers through his short sleep-mussed hair, trying to calm his thumping heart. "Okay, so you can go outside now, let me wake up a little and then I'll show you all around London, we can make a day out of it." The smile that graced Sherlock's face was something he would never forget, it was like a child experiencing their first Christmas, he really couldn't stop himself grinning like a madman himself.

After making himself a cup of tea, he finally got himself dressed, worrying that the angel would end up wearing down the carpet with his impatient pacing. "Are you ready yet?" Sherlock huffed, arms crossed across his chest and brows furrowed. John chuckled and that only made the other man's frown deepen. "I'm being serious, John. I-"

"Yes, yes. Look, getting my shoes on, see? Shoes and then we'll be out." John replied quickly, finishing tying off his lace and pulling himself to his feet, Sherlock was at the door as if he was incapable of stepping out in the world without accompaniment, the man was like some kind of overgrown pet really.


End file.
